


Three

by sleaze_em



Series: Lokir of Rorikstead [3]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Angst, Drama, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Implied Sexual Content, Not Canon Compliant, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-04-20 13:54:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21981589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleaze_em/pseuds/sleaze_em
Summary: The Khajiit, and maladaptive coping.
Series: Lokir of Rorikstead [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1582192
Comments: 7
Kudos: 7





	Three

The Khajiit woke up, not knowing what day it was. She pushed herself into a sitting position, regretted it, and slowly laid back down. With closed eyes and foggy mind, she tried to reassemble her thoughts.

It was three days after her execution that she made it to Riverwood, four that she went to Whiterun to speak to Jarl Balgruuf on Riverwood’s behalf, and five that she killed a dragon, and absorbed its soul (Mirmulnir, her mind provided. How did she know his name was Mirmulnir?). She’d never heard of a “dragonborn” before one of the city guards called her one, and was willing to ignore it. That was, of course, until she heard a choir of Nords from the Throat of the World call out to her. A call which she felt reverberating in her bones, which shook the ground beneath her.

Instead of returning to Whiterun, as the Jarl wanted, and instead of going to High Hrothgar, as the Greybeards (which she had heard a passing guard call them) wanted, the Khajiit asked the nearest trading caravan how many bottles of skooma she could get in exchange for the bones of a dragon, as well as directions to where she could drown herself in them. The tallest Khajiit in the caravan seemed reluctant to share with her the location of the one he knew about －apparently some of the denizens had been known to disappear－but, using charm she didn’t know she had, she persuaded the caravan guard into not only showing her the way, but into spending the night there with her.

Of course, she didn’t know how many nights ago that had been. The Khajiit, eyes still closed, reached out her hands on either side, feeling around on the sleeping mat for him. She opened her eyes when she found no one, and sighed in relief. Carefully, she pushed herself up again, this time ready for the shift, and anticipating the throb in her head. After a small coughing fit, she looked around for her knapsack, finding it under the furs she was resting her head on. She sent a silent thanks to the caravan guard, knowing that she wasn’t enough in control of her faculties to hide her belongings from the fellow addicts. She downed a health potion, almost thankful for the foul taste on her dry throat. There were others in the den (which she now recalled was named Redwater Den); the Khajiit heard them coughing, mumbling, some of them moaning. A Dunmer with a broom passed, hardly giving her a glance.

It had been eight months since she last took skooma. She’d quit, not out of some sense of self-preservation, or honor, but because the habit was too much for her to afford, with her meagre earnings from helping on farms or a lumber mill. Once she had gotten over her withdrawals, it usually wasn’t hard for her to stay away. When she absorbed the soul of that dragon, though, she could hear its voice rattling inside her head, speaking words she didn’t understand, but which she could intrinsically feel the power of. The Khajiit was no stranger to thoughts she didn’t want to be having, though, and immediately knew to cure them in the tried and true way of getting completely wrecked. 

She thought of the Thief again. Not of his running from the inevitable, but of his determination to live. While she didn’t share that sentiment, she knew that thousands of Skyrim inhabitants did: inhabitants whose lives were now at the mercy of dragons, which she had an unmistakable connection to.

She sighed in her empty booth.

Thankfully, she had only drank the skooma which she got from the caravan－the dealer and the attendant in the den made her uneasy, and the nobleman in the booth across from her was having a fit she’d never seen from skooma addicts in Elsweyr. After giving the health potion a minute to work, she stood, only wavering a little, and made her way out of the smoke-filled room. The dealer called after her, promising sweet dreams, but the Khajiit ignored her, only flinching a little at the concept of dreaming.

The sunlight outside burned her eyes, which made her head pulse painfully. Giving herself a minute to adjust, she ignored the hissing of Mirmulnir, and focused on the pull of the Greybeards. She turned towards Ivarstead, and walked.


End file.
